


The Person from Porlock

by Chianine



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Comedy, Community: norsekink, Fluff, M/M, silliness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 18:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chianine/pseuds/Chianine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The UN decides that Tom Hiddleston is a major threat to the mental health of anyone who's ever looked at his beautiful face, so he is forced to retire from public life, is forbidden to be photographed, and can't even do voice work because that's too sexy as well. He is banished to a small seaside retirement village filled with elderly people who are mostly immune to his charms, or at least they don't suffer nervous breakdowns in his presence.</p>
<p>He runs a little coffee shop and sells sweets and biscuits, and reads in the evenings. He's lonely, can't have any friends because he's ashamed of the terrible effect of his handsomeness, and takes long walks on the beach where he does a lot of sighing and wishing he was ugly.</p>
<p>Then one day there's a lightning storm and a beautiful blonde man falls out of the sky...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When the council's decision finally came down to banish him from public life, Tom just accepted it. His family and friends had insisted that he hire a lawyer and sue the UN for Civil Rights violations, but he refused. How could he just go on as he was, knowing that he was ruining so many lives? No, they were only looking out for world peace, and Tom was the one violating everybody else's right to have that. He was a menace, a disease, he had caused who knows how many divorces, psychiatrist appointments, lost jobs, failed classes, eating disorders, and sexually frustrated young adults. He had to be stopped. 

He wondered now how he could have been so selfish and irresponsible. How did he think he was just going to overload tumblr, twitter, and instagram with hip-thrusting videos, selfies, and cutesie sexual double-entendre and get away with it? Sure, he could tell himself that his agent had encouraged him to do it, or, hey, everyone else does the same thing, or, worse, that he didn't know any of it was happening, but in the end, Tom was responsible for Tom. And he definitely didn't have to keep going around in tight slacks with loose underwear. He couldn't blame anyone else for that. That was one of the things they had brought up in the council's hearings, complete with photographic evidence. He remembered the indignant stares he received while council members passed pictures of him carelessly flaunting his manhood between each other. He had hid his face in shame. The memory still made him cringe.

But that was all behind him now. His new life wasn't so bad, really. At least that's what he told himself every morning. And a few other times throughout the day. As far as banishments go, it was a lovely set-up. He ran a quaint little coffee shop, baked sweets and pastries on the side, and made a decent business. The seaside village was charming, small, very small, and the population consisted almost entirely of retirees over the age of sixty-five. The situation was probationary, meaning he could only stay if his presence there had no adverse effects on the populace, which was hopefully immune to his beauty, being in advanced years. Of course most of his patrons still flirted with him, made eyes, tried to touch his hand and complimented him in every way, but he did his best to avert his eyes and not not encourage it, because he knew that if he wanted to stay in their little village he could not push them over the edge with his charm. And it came so natural to him, he was constantly checking himself. It was misery some days, but he was walking a fine line. If anything went wrong, God knows where they would put him.

Because he couldn't get to close to anyone, even the older residents, for fear that they may fall in love with him and become unable to think about anything else, he had taken to fishing, collecting sea-shells, and other solitary pastimes. At home he played records, read books, and had even invested himself in chess, something he had never been good at before. He could play opponents online and socialize with people who couldn't be damaged by his fatal good looks. He also joined a poetry community on livejournal, with the handle personfromporlock9281, and enjoyed being able to bare his soul to others without having to fear for their well-being. He had a close call once, though, when elektra77 messaged him, asking, “Porlock? Isn't that the rumoured village where they sent Tom Hiddleston?” His location had to stay secret. Damn the internet! Tom had wriggled out of it by assuring elektra77 that he was a seventy-three year old woman who knew nothing of this Tom Hiddleston. He thought of changing his pseudonym, but the reference to Coleridge, one of his favorite Romantics, meant too much to him. Also, he didn't want to lose all of his followers.

The beach had become his best friend. He composed poetry while taking long walks, watching the tide rise and swallow up the ancient remains of the old harbor, wondering if Coleridge and Blake had been here once doing the same thing. He wished they could be with him, sharing their thoughts and inspiration, and imagined the conversations they would have. These fantasies were always cut short when he realized that they were passionate men, who surely would have fallen for his beauty and become obsessed with his disgusting perfection. He could never have been their friends, he would have only been a bane to them, maybe even caused them to give up all their precious creativity. He realized that he truly was the Person from Porlock, the legendary spoiler. It was poetic justice that he was sent here, and he laughed at the irony. But his laughter soon fell to tears, and he wished he could just wake up one morning and be ugly. He felt cursed.

But things weren't always so dark. He tried to remind himself that lots of people were born with disadvantages and they didn't just give up, mope around and feel sorry for themselves. He had to stay positive, and find something that he could give to the world. He would keep going with his poetry.

But it was hard to stay positive when you felt like a leper. Whenever any of the retirees had their grandchildren come to visit, Tom was required to close the shop and stay in his flat upstairs all day. He couldn't even sit too close to the window, lest some young person might see his gorgeous face and start swooning right there in the street. Presently, Tom could hear the laughter of Mr. and Mrs. Benton's family as they walked up Main. He knew their grand-daughter Sheila, twenty-three, and her fiance were visiting the Bentons for their anniversary, as Mrs. Benton had told him a few days ago in the shop. That's how it was done- nobody ever _told_ Tom to keep himself locked up at home, they just mentioned their weekend plans as if it was polite conversation and let him take the hint. And the hint was always the same - keep your handsome face away from my family.

So Tom was laying on his bed, struggling with a rhyme and wishing he could just go down to the pub and have a pint like any other guy. But that was impossible. As long as the Bentons' family was here, Tom couldn't leave the flat until long after they rolled the sidewalks up. Finally that time came, and he took a walk through the empty streets to the beach. It was a clear night, and the stars shone brightly. He took in deep mouthfuls of the fresh air that blew through his adorable ginger curls which he hated so much. He had been at the beach for only a few minutes when he heard the sound of giggling in the distance. It was the Benton girl and her fiance, running down the path to the shore. He couldn't let them see his face, especially in the flattering moonlight which would surely madden them with lust. A large rock a few meters in front of him could provide cover, so he waded into the water to hide on the other side of it. 

The couple merrily jogged to same rock and he listened to them as they kissed and spoke sweet nothings to each other just on the other side. They began making love, but Tom was boxed in by the water and some other rocks so he could do nothing but remain and listen to it, thinking of the joy he would never again experience.

Suddenly there was a distraction. A loud crack and a flash lit up the sky above the sea. Then with a speed he had never before seen, great storm clouds filled the horizon and began spreading over the beach. Tom stood up to watch the spectacle as he heard the couple gathering themselves quickly and leaving. His first reaction was to flee as well, but the sight was so magnificent that he decided to stay. Soon the clouds had completely blotted out the stars and another bolt came tearing through the sky. The deafening crack made Tom jump in surprise and he maybe wondered if he was in some serious danger. He could smell electricity in the air. Yes, he was definitely scared. But he had no time to think about that when a third bolt lit the beach up like the sun, striking the rock next to him and blowing him backwards with its force. He screamed, and saw the rock split open and steam rise out of the crack. He was on his back, panicking and sure he was going to die.

He waited for the next strike as the tide washed over his legs. He was getting soaked, yes, but he didn't care. That was really the least of his worries right then. He looked up to the sky, and realized that the storm was rolling away as quickly as it had come. The stars were already coming out again as he got to his feet and steadied himself against a rock, (not the steaming one) to catch his breath. He was still trying to process what had just happened when he heard a faint groaning coming from the other side of the blasted rock, followed by coughing. 

He was stunned. Who could have survived that lightning that had split the rock? And what were they doing over there anyway? Tom quickly waded through the water to get to the other side of the rock.

It was a man, lying face-down in the sand. He rushed over and dropped to his knees.

“Are you all right?” He asked, his voice shaking as he turned him over with some difficulty. He was quite heavy. When Tom had him on his back he could see that he was remarkably handsome and had long flowing blonde hair, like a model. He certainly did not recognize him from the village. The man opened his eyes, which were an almost unnatural blue, and began casting them about for a moment before resting them on Tom.

“What realm is this?” he asked in a clear, strong voice.

“Realm?” 

“Yes.” The man said, sitting up, “What realm?”

“Realm, uhhm... Porlock?” and then when the man seemed dissatisfied with that answer, “Somerset, does that ring a bell?”

The man was already rising to his feet, stumbling. 

“Are you sure you're all right to stand?” Tom got up and instinctively reached for the man's shoulder to steady him. He felt small next to the hulking blonde, and had to look up at him. That was kind of nice, different. 

“Who are you?” the mighty figure demanded, glancing at the hand on his shoulder, “And where is my hammer?”

That last question, in all its ridiculousness, Tom took as a clear sign of concussion. Which, when you thought about it, wasn't bad for being hit by lightning. Tom's fears were confirmed when the man yanked his arm away from Tom's grasp and began wandering in circles with his arm extended, calling for his hammer as if he thought it would just fly into his hand.

“Look, hey,” Tom said, running up behind and almost reaching out for him again, but remembering how he had to keep his hands to himself these days, “this is not really a good time or place for all that hollering. The locals here really don't take kindly to loud, well, loud anything, really. Especially after ten pm. So why don't we just take it easy, and I'll-”

“It is my hammer, I need it!” the wild man insisted, “It must have come through with me, I have to find it!”

Must be some kind of very dedicated construction worker, Tom thought, or a center-fold version of one who had gotten very involved with his costume theme. Had he been roofied and dumped here following some outrageous sex party? Poor thing. Well, there was only one thing to do.

Tom ran after him, as the man had again began the hollering and searching for his lost tool. This time he fearlessly grabbed him by the shoulders to face him.

“Look, you need to forget about the hammer-”

“Never!”

“Listen to me. You can come back and look for it in the morning. Right now we need to get you to the hospital.”

“Hospital?” The blonde repeated, as if the word was new to him.

“Yes!” Tom burst out. Wow. This guy was really messed up. How do you explain 'hospital' to a concussed, hammer-obsessed model who acted like he had never heard of one before? “The hospital! You may be sick, or injured! Hurt! We need to take you to a doctor!” Tom said, fumbling around in his pockets for his phone. He must have left it at home.

The man was quiet for a moment, thank goodness for that. Then he asked, “You want that I should go with you to a healer?”

“Healer?” Maybe this was worse than Tom realized. Maybe he was dealing with some sort of method acting gone terribly wrong. He had heard of things like this happening before, and was glad he had always steered clear of that tack in his more exhibitionist days. He replaced his hands on the man's shoulders and looked into his dazed eyes. “Look. Why don't you tell me your name?” He spoke in the smooth, velvety tone he had been forbidden from using because of its hypnotic effects. This was an emergency, though, so he thought an exception was in order.

It worked. The man relaxed his tense muscles and replied, “I am Thor, son of Odin.”

Really? Were they shooting an action movie in the area that he didn't know about? Oh, well. Now was not a good time for an intervention, so he decided just to go along with it.

“Ok, Thor?” Tom asked with a sigh, and receiving a kind nod of acknowledgment, continued, “My name is Tom. I think you've had some trouble. There was a terrible storm, and you may have been struck by lightning, if you can believe that, because I really can't. If you want you to follow me to my flat, or, er, lodgings,” he corrected himself after a baffled look, “I can use my... communication device to call for an... a carriage to deliver you to the healing center. How does that sound?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I need no healer. And besides, I have no faith in the medicinal practices of this realm, which I know nothing of. You say this is Porlock?”

“Well, yes.”

“The name is not familiar to me, so your civilization must be extremely primitive if I've had no occasion to learn of your people. So be it. I will follow you to your lodgings, as you've offered, if you wish to provide me with a place to rest for the night and some water. My throat is parched.”

“Yes, of course. But I really think it might be dangerous for you to sleep if you've had a concussion.”

Another baffled look from this 'Thor.'

“You may have damaged your skull, and the brain inside of it!” Tom explained.

“Haha! Yes,” he rubbed his head as his short-lived smile faded, “these mortal forms are weak. I had forgotten. Still, I have heard many terrible tales of other realms, where those who call themselves healers practice methods of bleeding and covering their patients in excrement. I will not be subjected to such treatment.”

Tom had heard enough. He himself could barely stand he was so tired. “All right, this way.” Thor followed him off the beach and into the village.

“This is a strange little city.” Thor cheerfully proclaimed once they were on the silent streets. Tom had to tell him to stay quiet until they were inside. The last thing he needed was for a nosy insomniac to look out their window and see Tom creeping around in the middle of the night with some beach body in a ripped costume tunic and leggings. The gossip could threaten his probation.

Thor commented on the pleasing aroma of the shop as they passed through it to the stair that led to his flat, and claimed to have never heard of coffee when Tom explained what it was. Thor was either a genius, or a complete fool, Tom thought. Maybe a savant. Either way, he promised to brew him a cup first thing in the morning.

After the requested drink of water, Thor plopped over on the bed in the corner of his one-room flat, and fell asleep in an instant. Tom thought it was a bit presumptuous to take over his bed, but he would have offered anyway. He snuggled himself on his old couch, legs hanging rather uncomfortably over the arm, and fell asleep to the sound of Thor's gentle snore.


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning, Tom woke up to clanging sounds in his kitchen. The sunlight was pouring in through the blinds, and his first thought was of the shop. He looked at the clock and saw that it was half-past nine. Damn! Nearly three hours later than he usually opened. He jumped off the couch and pulled on his shoes, noticing the empty bed and sheets twisted and hanging onto the floor. He made his way to the kitchen, where he saw Thor dressed in only his leggings and turning an electric kettle over in his hand, surprising himself when water spilled all over his chest. It was a blessing he didn't know how to turn the thing on, or there would have been another argument about going to the hospital. He was standing in the middle of the most incredible mess of food, pots and pans, and books spread around every counter-top.

“Tom!” Thor exclaimed when he saw him, “Good morning! You have indulged yourself in a very extended slumber, my friend!” he laughed, “I hope you don't mind that I have found your library and took the liberty of examining your volumes and trifles. I hope this has not been a trespassing?”

“No, it's no problem.” Tom said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, “Help yourself. I see you've found the pantry as well.”

“Yes,” Thor laughed, self-conscious. “I was famished. And I knew not when you would rise.” Thor jammed a whole slice of bread in his mouth, and continued with his mouth full, “I have excellent news, my friend. From perusing your books I have discovered our location to be Midgard, realm of the humans.”

“Midgard?”

“Yes, you must be very grateful to hear this, for surely you been have in ignorance of it your entire life! Porlock, you call it. An ugly word, and completely inaccurate. Well, now you know. This is Midgard, I was right not to let you hand me over to those healers. I told you- leeches and excrement- that is what they use here. I am surprised you have survived to manhood in such a barbaric land, Tom.”

“First of all, those treatments haven't been in practice here for hundreds-” Tom cut himself off, not believing that he was about to get in an argument over medical advancements with this man's delusion, “Look I need to go downstairs and open the shop. You...” Tom wasn't exactly sure what Thor should do, or if he was in a position to give orders. But he was so helpless, he seemed to think that it was the medieval ages out there. And he was harmless, too. If he meant to rob or hurt Tom, he would have done so already. The worst he could do was make a bigger mess of his flat, and well, that wasn't so bad. Dealing with anther’s mess was the surest sign that you weren't alone.

“Ah! Your dining hall downstairs! Good, I will assist you. It is the least I can do to repay you for your kindness. I know how to earn my keep! I need only a fresh tunic. Can I borrow one of yours?”

“What? No, I don't have tunics. And I think it best if you just stayed up here, OK?”

His response took all the life out of Thor's face. It was heartbreaking. “I'm sorry, I appreciate the offer but,” a sharp knock on the shop door reminded him of the outside world. A world that definitely couldn't find out about the youngish, hunky man he picked up at the beach last night. “Thor, it's hard to explain right now but I can't have you in the shop. Just make yourself at home, eat whatever you want, use the shower, whatever. I close up around threeish and then we'll.. well we'll try to figure things out.”

It had been a busy morning. People were upset about the late opening, especially after his being closed all the previous day. They understood his circumstances, but still made allusions to how much simpler it had all been with the previous owner. For some reason it made him feel better to think about his new friend upstairs, of what he might be doing, or eating, which of his things he was looking at and what he might think about them. It was nice, just the thought of someone else breathing in his space, sitting on his furniture, and warming the place up with life. Things always seemed so cold and dead when he went upstairs in the evening, but not today. He had never looked so forward to closing the shop.

It was a bit arrogant, but Tom couldn't help wondering why Thor hadn't recognized him, especially if he was an actor or a model. Maybe he really _was_ from another time or place, after all. Where did he come from? How did he just show up there on the beach, and during that strangest ever lightning storm that hadn't rained at all? It was like a miracle, like he just fell out of the sky. How exciting, that out of all the people in the world, it should be Tom that found him!

No, that was just Tom's overactive imagination getting the better of him again. Tom was relieved when Mrs. Reed walked through the door and put an end to his wild musings. 

She ordered a coffee, and then began making small talk. He noticed that she was wearing heavier make-up than usual and her perfume was strong, noticeable even over the smell of coffee and pastry. Oh no, he thought, when she presented him with an ornate needlepoint as a gift. He was looking for the words to politely refuse when he heard stomping in the stairwell. He almost didn't recognize the sound, as no one but Tom ever went in or out of his flat. By the time he realized that it was Thor coming down the stairs, he had no time to jump over the counter and stop him. 

Thor's appearance was a shock beyond reckoning. He had borrowed an old red Coca-Cola T-shirt that was tight on Tom but was obscene on the much larger man. The tee looked ready to burst its every seam and didn't come close to the length required to conceal his navel or the trail of fur leading to his nether regions. To top it off, he was still wearing leggings, but Tom supposed he may have been unsuccessful in finding any pants he could force himself into. 

“Good Day, Milady!” Thor boomed at the old woman with her mouth hanging open, “And Tom! I am ready for that brew you promised me last night. I hope you did not think I had forgotten!”

“Good God...” Tom heard Mrs. Reed whisper under her breath.

Tom had to think fast. Another emergency. Time to pull out all the stops on the charm.“Mrs. Reed!” Tom smiled his widest, brightest smile and laughed. “Meet Thor! Thor, come on back behind the counter!” 

Tom distracted Mrs. Reed from Thor by keeping up his heart-melting smile. Thor rounded the edge of the counter with quick, enthusiastic steps, happy Tom had changed his mind about him helping. Tom pulled him close and gave him an affectionate slap on the back as Mrs. Reed gaped at the two men in disbelief. “He's here to help me, especially on the days I can't, you know, tend the shop myself. Thor is... actually... my brother, he's my brother.” Tom said, pinching a naked chunk of Thor's back where Mrs. Reed couldn't see.

“Yes! That's right,” Thor laughed.

Thank God, Tom said to himself.

“Brothers? Well, I never would have guessed.” Mrs. Reed eyed them both suspiciously, “You two look nothing alike.”

“Ho-ho, Don't we now?” Tom turned Thor and raised his eyebrow, “Well, Thor, I guess we had better ask our mother about that.”

Thor burst out laughing. Tom imitated his reaction as best he could, as if the same terrible sense of humor would be irrefutable proof of relation.

After a minute Tom said, “Thor's luggage was lost at the airport.” It was the quickest explanation he could think of for the wardrobe abomination. But it was an explanation that needed more explanation. And unfortunately Tom was a terrible liar. “He's uh- been in Chile for the last couple of months, he's a mountain climber.” Thor offered Mrs. Reed some nods and hums of confirmation, which she seemed to be accepting. “We actually were planning to go and pick it up today, after we close the shop early.” He cleared his throat, and Mrs. Reed picked up the hint.

“Well, I'll just leave this here with you two boys.” She smiled and pushed the needlepoint forward on the counter, then took her cup and left.

Tom followed her to the door, turned the latch and drew the blind. He turned to Thor, ready to scold him for his disobedience but the latter spoke first. “A sorceress. We must burn this damnable thing, which surely is filled with black enchantments,” he said, holding up the needlepoint.

“What?” 

“Tom,” Thor sighed impatiently, placing his hands on his bare hips, “I may be a stranger to your world but you needn't shield me from the dangers it holds. There is only one reason a grown man would lie so fearfully to an aged woman. She is a very powerful sorceress, I suppose, if you feel the need to conceal that you keep a great warrior under your roof.”

“And you, I suppose, are the great warrior?”

“Of course.”

“Well, great warrior or not, I told you to stay upstairs! You have no idea how much trouble you almost got me into just now. I had to lie to explain why you were here, yes, but if you think anyone is going to mistake you for a great warrior in those clothes, well then-”

“But these are your clothes, Tom. I meant only to disguise myself.”

“Disguise yourself? As a lunatic rent-boy?”

Thor gave a baffled look.

“Hey, I'm sorry,”he said, feeling guilty. He hated name-calling, and besides, there was nothing wrong with lunatic rent-boys. He supposed there were probably a lot of them around, and most of them fine people. “Here, sit down and have your coffee while I straighten up. Then we can go back to the beach and look for your-”

“-hammer.” Thor finished. Tom was sort of hoping that had been forgotten about, or just imagined by himself.

“Yes, your hammer, and maybe you had a wallet on you or something else that we might find to help us figure out who you are so we can.... get you back home.” Tom was surprised at how sad he felt when he said these words, but it couldn't compare to the look on Thor's face.

“But I know who I am,” Thor choked out, “and I can't go home.”

“What do you mean?” Tom asked.

“I am banished.” Thor dropped his shoulders and shuffled to a table, where he found a chair to slouch in.

“Wait, you're not on the run from the police, are you?”

Thor didn't even look up from his lap, but Tom figured the question was silly anyway. He wouldn't have made such an outrageous appearance just now if he was trying to lay low.

“What were you banished for?” Tom asked.

“Stupidity.” Thor answered with a pout.

Well, that wasn't too hard to believe, though he couldn't help feeling sorry for him. “Well, what did you do?”

Thor dropped his head onto the table and moaned.

“Look,” Tom said, trying to cheer his friend up, “You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.” Then he laughed, “You know, I'm banished myself, in a way. If it makes you feel any better...”

Thor looked up from the table, as if he was ready to hear more. But Tom wasn't any more in the mood for it than Thor.

“It's a long story. Right now I just want to get this place cleared up, so we can head out to the beach before it gets dark. Now that I'm sure Mrs. Reed has told everyone about my new brother, nobody should be too surprised to see us together. Actually,” Tom took another look at Thor's outfit and came up with another plan, “why don't you stay here and tidy up, and I'll head down to the church. There's a thrift store there, where I can buy you some decent clothes. I don't suppose you have any money?”

Thor gave a blank look. Of course not.

“It's fine. The broom and dust pan are in the closet over there. Just wipe all the tables, and put everything back in the fridge.” Tom grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “Oh and if anyone knocks, don't answer the door. For anyone! Don't let anyone one see you like this.” Thor looked down at his clothes in wonder. “Trust me, once we get you fixed up, you'll understand. OK, I'll be right back.”

Tom locked the door behind him, hoping Thor would be all right for awhile. Then he panicked, thinking of the misunderstanding this morning, unlocked the door and stuck his inside.

“Thor!” Tom surprised him as he stood in front of the broom closet. “Don't. Leave. Do you understand me? Don't go anywhere! Tell me you understand you're not to walk out this door!”

“Yes, I am right here, cleaning!” Thor answered, sort of testy.

“All right.” Tom locked the door, feeling much better. He stepped lightly, giddily down the street, reminding himself of a child going to buy a leash and kibble for a newly adopted puppy.

 

Nothing was clean when Tom returned with a giant, reused plastic bag from the thrift store. That's not to say Thor hadn't been busy. The broom closet had been emptied, its contents spread everywhere, he had swept every crumb on the floor into the corners, and the counter tops were soaking wet and dripping onto the floor. Thor excused himself by explaining that he was a prince, which Tom thought was awfully convenient. Whatever, time to play dress up.

Tom had guessed his size exactly. The idea was to make him look like some forgettable day-laborer you wouldn't like twice at, but it seemed impossible with a body like his. His filled out a pair of jeans like a dream, and even the boring, badly-cut flannel button-downs Tom got him couldn't hide his hulking physique.

“Hmm....” Thor grunted as he looked at himself in the mirror, obviously not pleased. Obviously not realizing how great he looked. “So I am a peasant, I suppose. These drab colors... I will have to accustom myself to them.”

The beach was windy and therefore empty. Tom loved it, but Thor's hair blew wildly into his face, and he was spitting and pulling it out of his eyes. “Deranged winds! You mortals would tolerate the air you breathe to be such a nuisance? Does no one here have the inclination to tame such a disrespectful element!”

“It's not disrespectful to the birds who depend on it for flight, or the plants that depend on it to spread their seeds,” Tom said in its defense.

“'Tis a pity! If you humans cared so much for these entities, you would aid them to be free from their alliance with this detestable force. If the wind saw that you meant to put an end to its tyranny, perhaps it would learn to mind its manners. I can barely hear myself speak!”

Tom laughed, gathering Thor's hair into a ponytail, “I'll buy you some hair ties from the drug store on the way home, then hopefully you'll get on better with the wind.”

They might have split up but Tom thought better of it. After all, there was only one person looking for a hammer, and the other person was simply looking after Thor. They started at the point they had met, and Tom was almost startled to see the cracked rock in full daylight. That such violence had occurred less than three or four meters from his person was incredible. He was was lucky to be alive!

Thor was less impressed, however. He explained that the lightning responsible for the crack had been the same that had delivered his body to Earth, or, correction, Midgard. Tom didn't argue; at this point he expected no less from Thor. He told Tom to look around for similar cracks or blasts that might have been caused by Mjolnir when 'she' landed. When Tom asked who Mjolnir was, he was told that it was the hammer's name. Of course this hammer should have such a regal name. Again, he had lost the capacity to be surprised by this man, and simply took note of the advice as he searched for additions to his shell collection.

There were a great many of these over-sized rocks on this section of shore, and Tom enjoyed climbing them and hopping from one to another, looking to see what had gotten caught amongst them during high tide. Standing high on one of these rocks, he could look down and see the whole beach. He saw Thor trampling up to his knees in the waves, investigating a group of rocks in the water. He turned around, and casually scanned the other scattered rocks in the area when his eyes fell upon a sharp, fresh-looking edge. He hopped over to it, and saw as he got close that had indeed been recently broken, the other half of it laying on its side. And even weirder, he saw wedged partly beneath the rock and half-buried in sand, a leather handle with a looped strap. Now that could be a hammer, he thought.

He jumped to the ground and began to pull. But even with all strength, he couldn't feel it giving even a little bit. The handle didn't look like that of any hammer he had ever seen, in fact he figured it was probably some kind of novelty golf club or tennis racket. He didn't want to alarm Thor for something that probably wasn't his hammer, but if anyone was going to pull this thing out, it was going to be Thor.

He reclaimed his spot on the rock and waved Thor over, who came running and leaping over rocks to the spot Tom pointed at. “Tom! You've found it!” Thor said as soon as he saw the handle. Then he raised his fists to the sky and roared his triumph. “Tom, my friend! Now you will witness true power!” A part of Tom really believed he might. Thor dropped down and began yanking on the handle, gritting his teeth and growling until his face turned red, but the thing seemed as unyielding for him as it did for Tom. Eventually Thor let go and sat back, defeated, and stared at the handle as if it had betrayed him.

“Maybe we can loosen it by digging out some of the sand.” Tom said, jumping to the ground and putting his arm around Thor's back to comfort him. Thor said nothing, barely even acknowledging Tom as he continued to stare at the handle. Tom scooped a few handfuls out from around the handle, and could even see the rectangular silver head. “Its beautiful,” he said, turning to Thor, who only looked away. Tom kept working, but soon made a strange discovery; the sand around the head seemed to be hardened like sandstone. It was mystifying, but seeing that much of the head was exposed, he figured it should be able to be torn away. But it was as stubborn as ever.

“Leave it, Tom.” He heard Thor's despairing voice behind him, “I am the only one who can lift it. Or was. I am not worthy of it now. It is a divine weapon, it cannot be forced.”

Tom took a seat beside Thor, who was staring out over the sea. He felt exhilarated from the effort, and didn't want to give up, but it was Thor's hammer, after all. “You know, it's very likely that, if someone else sees it, they'll try to-”

“It doesn't matter. No one can lift it.”

“Well, if they're curious enough, they may apply a jack-hammer or a bulldozer-”

“Tom!” Thor yelled, silencing him. He got up and made another series of attempts at lifting the hammer, straining himself, until Tom regretted encouraging him to do so. He tried to stop him, but Thor was beyond hearing him. He fell into a full rage, kicking at the handle, screaming at the sky incoherently, and beating rocks with his fists until they were bloody. This where Tom had to step in. He wrapped his arms around Thor forcing him to stop, feeling his heart thumping in his chest. 

“Come on, let's just go home. We'll think of something, I promise.” Tom said, keeping an arm around Thor as he led him away from the beach.


	3. Chapter 3

The only moody blues Tom had dealt with recently had been his own. A grumpy Thor wasn't exactly problematic, but it made the whole world seem dim. He wouldn't look at anything but his feet as Tom steered him back to town, through the drug store and even to the ice cream counter (how can you be sad at the ice cream counter?) and back to the flat. 

When they were sitting on his couch again and Tom was nudging Thor in the face with the wet end of an ice cream cone, Tom knew he was doing it mostly for himself. Thor was a ray of sunshine that Tom wanted to keep burning bright. Whether or not it had been irritating, unnerving or potentially catastrophic, Thor's arrival had given Tom's life _life_. And now this beautiful beast of a man was just slouched on the couch, almost incoherent, and pretending like the sound of the electric kettle bubbling and frothing because it was almost ready wasn't the most reassuring sound in the world.

“Is this _really_ all about the hammer,” Tom asked, “or is there something more that's bothering you?”

Thor stared back at Tom as if he wanted to speak, but had forgotten how. He started and stopped several times, searching his own heart for the best way to explain the pain he was experiencing. 

Finally he said, “It's that, well, I do not know who or what I am anymore. Does that make sense, Tom?

It made more than enough sense to Tom. Since the moment Tom had met Thor it was obvious he had some major identity issues.

“Well you're _Thor,_ right?” Tom asked, and the question wasn't rhetorical.

“Yes, that is my name, but what is Thor without his power? I am known as the wielder of mighty Mjolnir, the weapon that brings death to all who oppose me. People fear my wrath all over the nine realms – or at least, they _did._ Who would fear me now?”

“ _I_ don't fear you.”

“Exactly!”

“Do you _want_ me to fear you? What kind of friends would we be then? 

Thor knitted his brows at Tom, confused by the question.

“Look, Thor, there's a lot more to you than just being some kind of bringer of death and destruction. You're cheerful – well, most of the time – you seem to have a big heart, you're honest and considerate – sort of – and you like to help people and try new things, and, well, you're quite pleasant to look at. I've only known you a few hours, and I can honestly say that I like you very much, even _without_ the hammer of death.”

Thor took this in. There was a spark of appreciation in his face that pleased Tom.

“I must say,” Tom laughed, “since I met you, I've probably had more fun here in Porlock than I thought possible. I know I've been a bit cranky at moments, but I'm really _glad_ you're here.”

“Really?”

“Yes, of course!”

“Do you mean I can _stay_ with you, Tom?”

“Well,” Tom was flustered by the question, “I mean, you can certainly stay as long as you need to, but don't you _want_ to return home?”

“I told you, Tom! I can _never_ return home. My father has banished me! What is done cannot be undone. This land is my home now. I am a mortal in the mortal world, worse off than even the lowliest human soul because I have no knowledge of how to live here. All I have is _you_ , Tom. I truly do not know what I would do if you demanded that I part from your home. I suppose I would return to the beach and wait for death to relieve me of this -”

“- Thor! That is absolutely _not_ going to happen!”

“So then I can stay with you forever?”

When Tom raised his eyebrows, Thor guessed that he should clarify his request.

“Well, not for eternity, of course,” Thor chuckled, “I probably only have another sixty or seventy years of life ahead of me. But if I could remain in your keeping for that duration, I would be much obliged.”

“Only sixty or seventy years! I suppose that's _too_ much of a commitment, is it?”

Thor shrugged. “At home, or as I should say, in Asgard, we have great healers who have perfected the methods of bodily care. Without them, I fear my weakened body will rapidly deteriorate, as yours surely will as well, my friend, though I am sorry to say it. That number is only an estimate, though. Death seems to be whimsical and merciless with the humans, so you may be free from my care sooner than that.”

Tom laughed again. It was charming the way Thor was not only apparently believed everything he was saying, he gave no evidence that he was making this stuff up. There wasn't the typically stuttering or nervousness you would expect from a liar. Tom thought it might be fun to test him with a simple question. It would either stump him, or might jog his memory of his _real_ life.

“Thor, how old are you, if you don't mind my asking?”

“No, Tom of course I don't mind. Let me see...” Thor pushed his lip out, considering, “well, it hasn't too long since my bi-millennial celebration, so I would guess I'm about two thousand, one hundred and, I don't know - twenty years old? Somewhere around there.”

Tom's jaw dropped, “You realize how unbelievable that sounds to me, _don't_ you?” Tom asked, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

Thor cocked his head, “I don't know _why_. Haven't your ancestors told you stories of my exploits here in Midgard during the days of my youth?” Thor weaved his fingers behind his head before continuing dreamily, “I made a mighty display of my power, and the humans were so dazzled they began to worship me! Though I met quite some trouble about the foolishness from my father,” Thor smirked. “He believed the civilization here to be too primitive and didn't want to meddle with their development for a few millenia. After my misstep, in order to quell their confusion, he and my Uncle Loki made a diplomatic visit to explain our world and grant some advice about philosophy, politics, morality, and sound methods of healing.” Thor shook his head, “It was entirely unsuccessful, as you know, and the only information the humans retained was gossip. Apparently Uncle Loki, during a feast given to honor him, thought it appropriate to reward their kindness by going on and on about the private lives Asgard's residents, including many of my own blunders.” 

Thor took a breath and shook his head as if he was remembering some of these shameful instances.

“Still, and despite my uncle's drunken slandering, I was revered as “the god of thunder” by your people, but apparently that has gone out of fashion, for when I told you my name, you seemed not to recognize it.” Thor sighed like an old man remembering his former glory, “That is the way of things, I suppose. Methinks some 'god of kindness' is more popular here now, though his worship seems to have done little to improve your people's treatment of each other, which reportedly is still quite unfathomably base and usually without advantage -” 

As Thor rambled on about religion and hypocrisy, Tom found himself still focused on the previous mention of thunder. It was easy to dismiss a homeless man who thinks he is a Norse god as crazy until you remember that you did find him under rather mysterious conditions in the strangest lightning storm you have ever experienced.

“- and yet,” Thor went on, “I am not envious, and wish this 'god of kindness' great fortune in his quest to improve the reputation of humans -”

“Thor,” Tom interrupted, “what can you tell me about the storm that occurred last night?”

“Oh,” Thor responded nonchalantly, “that is what always happens when the Bifrost opens up, at least in moist atmospheres like yours. The crack creates such a disturbance in the skies that it causes the clouds to rub against one another, causing friction and the phenomenon you call lightning. Clouds then drop much of their contents, which is what you usually experience as a storm.” Thor cleared his throat and said, “I am sorry if it caused you any great alarm.” Thor looked uncomfortably to the side and then finally added, “I do not mean to be rude, Tom, but I am quite thirsty and recall that you said you were preparing -”

“- oh yes! Sorry!” 

Tom jumped off the couch and went to the kitchen to get the tea. Thor's words had his mind going at full speed. He was so distracted he could barely tear the packets of tea and then he opened and closed the refrigerator several times before remembering that what he wanted out of it was the milk. He peered at Thor from the kitchen covertly, as if he might be caught doing something sinister that would prove him a liar. But the man was only sitting there, investigating a slinky.

Tom returned with the tea and offered it to Thor, who seemed more than pleased with the treat. 

“Hmm,” Thor hummed into his drink, “this is _good,_ Tom.”

Tom smiled, a little concerned about the wincing Thor was making as he forced the hot tea down his throat, “Well, you know, I always use PG tips when I have guests. An old habit I picked up from my mother.”

Thor suddenly gazed curiously at Tom, “Yes, tell me – where is your family, Tom? Why do you not have a wife and children. I have heard procreation is a very popular sport for humans.”

Tom brushed a hand over his eye, sort of taken a back by the forward question. Then again, it was sort of his turn to share something about himself.

“I never really got around to it, I guess. See, I used to be an actor, a successful, very successful actor,” Tom was aware that he sounded wistful, and shook himself from it, “and I had no time for those things. When my career ended, and I was sent here, I was forbidden to have any relations whatsoever with people under the age of sixty, so, I don't really see a family happening for me. I still get visits from my mum and dad, and my sisters, but there's not much for them to do here, there's not much for anyone to do here, really, and I'm not allowed to leave, so I don't see them as much as I like -”

“- Tom.”

Tom turned to see Thor's face full of concern and compassion. It had been a long time since anybody looked at him with something other than pity or suspicion, but Thor seemed more determined than anything else.

“Yes?”

Thor placed a hand over Tom's, “You are lonely – I can see that. But you won't have to live so anymore. Now I am here, and being over two thousand years old, there should be no issue with me being your companion.”

“I don't think we ought to tell anyone that your two thousand years old, Thor. Let's just go with a safe twenty-nine. Your my brother, remember, so we can just hope that no one questions that.”

“Why? Tom, why must you live with so many lies? What _crime_ have you committed?”

This was still a conversation Tom was not ready to have, but he realized that Thor deserved some answers before demanding that he pretend to be Tom's twenty-nine year old brother. “I was very shameless and irresponsible during my acting days. There were photos and images of me everywhere, and many people, well, they became sort of addicted to my beauty...” Thor looked at him in disbelief, “You see, I'm considered a man of exceptional handsomeness...” 

Tom found this very a very embarrassing thing to explain. Thor was looking at him with such an incredulous expression that perhaps for the first time in his life, he was worried that someone did _not_ find his beauty overwhelming. To prove that he wasn't making this up, he related some of the news stories he had heard about his negative effect on the people of Midgard and concluded, “... well, that's the general consensus here in Midgard anyway, I mean, that I am dangerously beautiful.”

Tom turned his gaze shyly downward as Thor began to laugh, “Tom, I promise you that you needn't fear _me_ falling under your spell. I find your beauty in no way stunning.”

Tom was surprised by the pang of hurt in his chest. It obviously shown on his face, for Thor clapped him on the knee, saying, “Tom! No need to sulk, brother. You're healthy-looking enough, it's only, I don't think your looks are the most memorable thing about you. I find your kindness and your compassion much more enchanting.”

Tom's heart lifted instantly. He couldn't remember the last time someone told him that his personality outshone his looks. Usually people reminded him that he was lucky he was so personable or else his handsomeness would be much less tolerated. 

“Thank you, Thor.”

“Of course. I only speak the truth.”

“Thor, I must say, it's not only hard to believe the things you say because, well, normally men to don't travel the universe via lightning storms, but also, I find it hard to believe that a person as kind and trustworthy as you would be banished from his kingdom by his own father. Tell me what happened, _please._ I hope you will trust me not to judge.”

Thor's face darkened, but with a sigh, he began, “My father is very old – over eight thousand years he has lived. The sleep of the immortals beckons him, and he planned to pass the throne of Asgard unto me to rule in his place. I had known nothing of life besides war and slaughter, but I excelled in these things and was very proud. On the day of my coronation, with my father Odin before me, my mother beside me, and the whole of Asgard watching, my father felt a presence in the vault, the secured chamber where we keep all of our most valuable weapons and relics. When I followed my father and uncle down there, we saw the corpses of the frost giants that had attempted to remove one of the relics. I felt that we should declare war on these monsters, just for their attempt, but my father disagreed. I was not king yet, and he insisted that we take the peaceful route.”

Thor looked to Tom, waiting for him to agree, but Tom was desperately trying to get his head around the wild tale that he couldn't even consider whether or not it was morally right to want to kill some frost monsters. He shrugged and tried to pay closer attention to the story.

“Was I wrong, Tom?”

“To want to go to war? I don't know, it's not usually the _most_ fun option -”

“- Well, my Uncle Loki believed I was right. And being a frost giant himself, I believed his word should be trusted in this matter. He told me there would be terrible results from not attacking Jotunheim, land of the frost giants, but since father had forbidden it, our hands were tied. I told my friends I would go there myself, and take on the whole horde rather than stand by and let the monsters go unpunished. My friends though, brave and gallant warriors that they are, chose to follow me regardless of punishment at the hands of my father or death at the hands of the giants.” 

Thor paused and smiled fondly as he remembered these friends, causing Tom to feel a weird twinge of jealousy that he could only get over by reminding himself that these people were not real. 

After a moment,Thor continued, “Even the gatekeeper Heimdall agreed with our plans, and I, my friends, and Uncle Loki as well made the journey to Jotunheim. We arrived in the blue and frozen wasteland, and after a short discussion the slaughter began. We all fought bravely until the entire population was awakened, and we would have been killed if my father had not come to rescue us. When he brought us back to Asgard, we had a terrible row, and I said unspeakable things that would make any man cringe.”

Tom found the tale to sound a bit like a riddle. Maybe if he could make Thor think about it a little bit he would see how ridiculous it was.

“So, if your father is nearing his death, who will rule after him? Are you his only son?” Tom asked

Thor scratched his head. “I am. I suppose, well, it will probably be, hmm,” Thor paused, “Uncle Loki.”

Tom raised on eyebrow. He loved detective stories and this seemed like one of them. He felt like Sherlock Holmes solving a mystical crime. Maybe his sister had sent Thor as a really expensive singing telegram/prostitute who's specialty was interplanetary mystery plots.

“Uncle Loki was not born a true brother to my father,” Thor explained, “but he was made one through his acts that benefited Asgard. He is an honorary Asgardian and has helped ensure the safety of our land many times through his cleverness. He is a great mage, and a bit of a trickster, but he has demonstrated great loyalty to my father, so I don't doubt he would do fine taking my place.” Thor did not hide the regret he felt at those last words.

“Well, I if I do say so myself,” Tom laid back in the crook of his elbow, perhaps taking the Sherlock Holmes thing too far, but unable to resist because he felt so clever, “this Uncle Loki character sounds a bit suspect to me.”

“What do you mean by that?” Thor asked, and Tom would be lying to say that his threatening tone wasn't a little intimidating, so Tom decided to proceed with caution.

“From what you've told me, it seems likely this fellow has ulterior motives. You say the man is tricky and powerful, that he's left his home to be a part of your glorious realm. Well, he might be jealous of you and your father's power. If he is of the same race as those who ruined your coronation, it's likely he's the one who brought them there. I mean, they would easily trust him, right? Then you've said that he agreed with your desire to go to war, which surely buffeted your intentions when you might have given the idea up. Clearly everybody where you come from knows your propensity for combat, and he was banking on that. It seems a though he was hoping to have you out of the way to take the throne.”

Thor was silent, but there was anger in his eyes. Tom swallowed and realized he might have just insulted a very beloved uncle Loki. “I'm only conjecturing, of course. I don't know your people and have no right to throw accusations around, so please excuse me...”

“No, your words are...” Thor seemed to forget what he was about to say.

Tom realized he had only caused his friend greater pain. 

“I wish not to think on this.” Thor said, and then looked into his empty cup, “I would like some more of this drink, though, Tom.”

Tom laughed weakly and took the cup, “I'm glad you like it, but perhaps this would be a good night to introduce you to some of the other refreshments this realm has to offer. What do you say? Take a walk?”

 

In the two years he had lived n Porlock, Tom had never ventured to the pub. People in his village weren't unkind to him but he sensed that it was because he had kept to himself. He was sure word of his 'brother' had spread and hoped that a visitation from them would be almost expected. After all, it's not like he would be sitting alone at the bar, waiting to ensnare some hapless lass or chap, he would just be in a booth with his own dear brother, having a quiet pint and enjoying the atmosphere. 

As Tom walked in, he was thrilled at once to smell the smoky air and hear the sound of the jukebox grinding out tinny versions of old classic rock songs. Public life! Still, after everyone in the place turned around to see who had arrived, he watched their faces fill with suspicion. He smiled widely, but that didn't seem to make his presence any more appreciated. 

Tom approached the bar, pretending not to notice the way every eye in the place followed him. Thor stood at his side, and the giant presence granted him more than a little confidence. Miss Mae, the bartender, strolled up and made no effort to hide how she undressed Tom's companion in her head. 

“Well, Tom,” she asked, still staring at Thor, “what can I get for you and your handsome brother, here?”

Tom laughed and Thor simply grinned at her as though she was speaking a foreign language, “Two ciders, please.” Tom offered another smile a and crisp note.

“Coming right up,” Mae winked at Thor and turned to the tap with two glasses.

“I think this is going to be a drink you'll like even more than PG tips, brother.” 

Mae set the glasses on the bar and walked to the register with Tom's note. Thor lifted the glass to his lips and drank as soon as the drink was set in front of him, and kept on drinking until the golden fluid had been emptied. Tom watched in amazement as Thor finished it then licked his lips and belched, smiling at the empty glass.

“I like this drink! Another!” Thor smashed the glass on the floor, and Tom felt time freeze as Mae turned and stared at them with horror in her eyes.

 

“Well!” Tom said, straightening his shirt and coat after they had been used by two men to haul him outside the pub, “I hope you enjoyed all five minutes of your first and last trip to the pub! You might have waited until I got to at least taste my drink!”

Thor seemed more confused than anything as he stared back at the men who had pushed him out the door. “I do not understand. I meant no disrespect!”

“Do you express gratitude by destroying other people's property? I can tell you right now, if you act like that in my shop, I'll leave you at the beach right where I found you!”

Thor stared at Tom with unabashed fear. “But Tom, you said I could stay -”

Tom waved Thor's words away. “Don't worry Thor, I'm only joking. Just – no more smashing!”

Thor dropped his head, “I am sorry. No more smashing, I promise.”

“Good! Now let's get to the store before it closes. It looks like we're drinking at home tonight!”


End file.
